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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875573">Play it By Ear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneybin/pseuds/looneybin'>looneybin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Homestuck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Coping, Depression, Dissociation, Domestic, Earth C (Homestuck), Established Relationship, Fluff, Game Night, M/M, Medication, Mood Whiplash, Rating May Change, Tags will change as fic progresses, Things start to get weird, dirk and john love each other a whole lot, everyone is trying their best, guys being dudes, keep that in mind, taking one day at a time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:03:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23875573</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneybin/pseuds/looneybin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Dirk and John try to navigate the uncharted seas of adult life on Earth C. The endless horizon can be overwhelming at times, but that just means that there's more to see. Its an ill defined game of balancing doing the dishes and remembering that you're a literal god.</p><p>Its not surprising that 'Paradise' means something different for everyone.</p><p> </p><p>*Update* Chapter 3 has been Rewritten!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas, John Egbert/Dirk Strider, Minor or Background Relationship(s), minor davekat - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Two dudes, one paradise, no rules. Except when there are.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to my first fic in a long while! I'm actually really excited to get this out and share it with whoever will be willing to check it out. I really really needed more DirkJohh in my life, so I went and wrote something incredbily self indulgent. It's too late for regret now. I want to thank my good friend FlaringDichotomies for beta-ing this chapter!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you really fucking think that these west Alterinan sewage-masters are the one’s calling the shots? Hell no. It’s Princess gogdamn Toadstool and you can’t handle that expression of female dominance like I can.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“West indicates a two dimensional vector. A fuckin’ space empire requires three dimensions. West means jack shit to me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> Grumble, grumble. </em> “Everything to the left from the Imperial spaceport outwards? West tetrasphere? The Italians?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I see. You guys had Italians on Alternia as well?”<br/><br/></p>
<p>“Of fucking course we did! Who do you think would make all of the dangernoodles? Before you accuse me of something moronic like being ‘advanced troll culinary exclusionist’, they literally banned all other trolls from making dangernoodles. The Italian’s took that shit seriously.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dangernoodles.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On a couch facing a flatscreen television sit both Dave and Karkat. Karkat is hunched forward in order to talk over Dave’s lounging form; one arm casually thrown over the back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dave nods sagely. “You heard the man.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dirk hears a snort next to his ear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cuddled up next to him on an oversized bean bag chair is one John Egbert. More accurately, Dirk finds himself over more than halfway into John’s lap. The “bean” bag chair had sucked  the two of them in like a merciless, memory foam vortex. As awkward as it was to get situated into the damn thing, it would be even more of a pain in the ass to readjust their positions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fortunately for Dirk, he finds himself quite comfortable with this outcome for the time being.  John had whined earlier that he couldn't see the tv that well and that Dirk’s “mountain-sized ass” was crushing him. At no point did Dirk inhibit John's breathing. Amused, Dirk continues to subtly shuffle in front of the shorter boy’s face here and there. However, if John’s gentle squeezing around his middle is any indication, then Dirk’s boyfriend probably doesn't mind as much as he doth protest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dirk, just let Karkat be Peach, oh my god. We haven’t even started playing yet!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hush, John. I need to show dominance after my total annihilation last game.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dave kicks up his feet onto the coffee table, much to Karkat’s chagrin, leering at Dirk. “We just want to make Kat happy, dawg. Is that so much to ask? He had a brutal anime backstory; mom murdered and orphaned at the tender age of four. No Pocky to eat. A brutal dictator breathing down his neck, asking for a discreet payment of one trillion yen to assure his continued existence until the day he awoke to his newfound powers.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s a mom?” Karkat asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Human geneaology is fucking fascinating. See, when females-“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John laughs. “Dirk, he already knows. He’s making fun of Dave.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I knew that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did you?” John coos in Dirk’s ear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat scoffs, hiding a laugh. “Whatever. I don’t give a flying rat’s sewage soaked ball’s worth of shit. Dirk can be the booty fruit princess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, you have the honors, Mr. Strider-to-be. Your happiness is important to me, son.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> “Gag. </em> I’LL TAKE HER, FUCK OFF.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After booting up Mario Party 2, it took roughly twenty more minutes of bickering and elaborate haranguing to pick the fucking board, then their characters. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>John ended up taking Peach before anyone else. What proceeded was a long, arduous fifty round game that started off straight forward enough, but then proceeded to devolve into a series of passive aggressive backstabbery. Over the course of the game begrudging alliances were formed, sincere camaraderie felt; all inevitably to be dissolved. It consisted of victories most sublime and the surliest of defeats. Especially when Karkat fucked over John by landing on the Chance Time space. John lost all of the star’s he had stolen through Boo and was forced to trade them to Dirk. The latter was promptly shoved off of the warm lap he was fully nestled on, laughing on the way down. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the end, it was Donkey Kong, aka; Dave whom claimed the title of Super Star. Somehow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Motherfucker got all of the bonus stars! What the fuck?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m a visionary. My sick moves were all dealt with the most probable bonus stars in mind. Kept my cool and wove a path to sweet, sweet victory just like Rose taught me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John scoffs at Dave. “Liar! You suck at navigating and stuff. Especially paths! You just got lucky in minigames.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What, no I don’t. I’m a fucking mastermind.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You got lost two days ago.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Babe, do you hear this gratuitous slander against my character? Defend me, my little knight.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat rolls his eyes, a dramatic gesture requiring all four limbs for him. “John and I had to sniff out your sorry ass. ‘Where on this crudely repopulated shitstain of a planet are you?’ ‘Somewhere between a sedentary mound and an unyielding surface.’ ‘WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?’ ‘The ocean. I flew out here and now I’m lost come save my beautiful curvalicious self.’ ‘YOU HAVE GPS BULGESNIFFER.’ ‘My phone isn’t magic dude, it says go North Northeast 10 degrees.’ ‘SO? GET ON WITH IT.’ ‘What way is North?’”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The guys fall over laughing at Karkat’s re-enactment. His Dave impressions would be uncanny if only he managed to cover the Alternian dialect.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a few minutes of attempting to calm down, John pipes up or more specifically his stomach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Man, I’m hungry, can we order out? My treat!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck off with your bullshit generosity shtick. No one can beat Egbert at a hospitality-off, not even when he’s a guest because he is simply the best blah blah blah. You think that I hatched yesterday? Everyone knows that you’re an insufferable shit when it comes to upholding an illogical creed of etiquette.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Noooo,” John protests, his tone betraying false innocence. “I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about, Karkat!” His giggle fades into a light cough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dirk turns his head to lower his shades at John to fix him with a Look. It’s a somewhat difficult tactic to execute at this angle since Dirk’s ‘relocation’ to the floor. After apologizing, John had offered a few times to let him back up onto the bean bag only to be declined. Dirk had assured him that the carpet and squishy bean bag on his back were actually pretty comfortable. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They both lock eyes, neither one of them willing to be the first to flinch. Elevation difference aside, Dirk could still give John a run for his money in displays of bullheaded steadfastness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> Several ticks go by until John deflates, letting out a dramatic huff. Dirk seems to relax at this, his hard gaze shifting into something more fond. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ugh! Fine. Bluh, bluh, no outshining the hosts bluh, bluh, meddling douches.  What ever.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just take it easy.” Dirk suggests, patting John’s leg.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A low whistle comes from the direction of the couch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Damn, did I just witness a total shutdown of Egbertian tomfuckery? From teasing <em>Karkat</em> no less? Hopy shit. Bro, you have to teach me. How can I, a lowly acolyte, too learn be in control of the rascally wiles of a prankster? That is too much power for one man to possess, god or not. Might as well change your title to ‘Constabulary of Jackassery’ or something. Gotta protect the people-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before Dirk can give his brother a proper response, Karkat gives Dave a light ribbing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ouch! Easy on the merch, those elbows of yours are hella pointy.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m trying to save you from digging yourself into a deeper hole, dumbass.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John blithely ignores Dave’s comments and instead derails the conversation with a much more pressing issue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sooo, what kind food are we all in the mood for?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whatever we pick, I for one, vote that Dave is the one who orders. All in favor say ‘aye’”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A chorus of three different ‘ayes’’ fill the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“...Fuck ya’ll.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bzzbzz </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The buzzer rings when the food arrives, thankfully within the relatively promised time limit. Karkat pauses in the middle of a heated game of Mario Kart; it was the final lap of Yoshi’s Valley. The brief reprieve causes the other three guys to groan in unison.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know how and I don’t know when, but I am going to get you, Strider. I swear on Nannasprite’s old and probably destroyed urn that you will be met with swift justice! Normally, that dumb stuff is Terezi’s thing, but this is what you have pushed me to, Dirk. I hope you do not mind living with that.”  John says in his ‘I’m doing my best to sound serious right now’ voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s hardly convincing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don't think that the issue has been made entirely clear to me, John. It must be all of the bad karma that I've incurred from our last encounter in Mario Party. Would you mind illuminating further?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Har har. Stop ramming me off of every narrow path you asshole! You can target anyone else!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bzzbzzz </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“All’s fair in love and Mario Kart. Besides, that’s a hefty thing for you to ask of me. How can I be expected to ignore my boyfriend when he is vulnerable for receiving anything resembling a good ramming and or literal slamming? John Egbert, are you saying that you cannot brace for the Deep Impact that only I can offer?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh wow, for someone who loves to talk about his ‘superior’ sense of humor, you sure do fall back on unfunny dick jokes a whole lot!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Who said anything about dicks? Besides, I can’t be blamed for your lack of appreciation for my artistry.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There’s nothing ‘artsy’ about it. You’re a massive nerd who covers up baby level jokes with irony. That's it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, <em> hell </em> no-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Please, pretty, <em> pretty </em> please save your shitty foreplay for the actual bedroom and not within the sanctity of your innocent brother slash best bro’s home? Quit making bumper cars into something so fucking depraved. You both sound like a couple of dumbass twelve year olds trying to get with each other while scoping out the shitty state fair. Shit is so goddamn unrefined that it physically hurts me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why are you imagining us as twelve year olds, dude?” John asks, holding in a laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat sighs mightily.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Bzzbzz! </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ok, time for you guys to quit bitching like a brood of newly hatched grubs. I guess I’ll be the one to get the door since someone has to display a little gogdamn agency in this apartment.” Karkat barks, “You know, to get the that food I’m paying for? You ungrateful lot.“ </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dave doesn't move despite Karkat's glare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We love you too, buddy!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re a shining example to your species, dude.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No one can save us like you, kitkat.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a derisive snort, Karkat gets up from the couch, walking around it to head toward the door before stopping. He pats himself down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dammit. Dave, where’s the money?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hang on, babe.” Dave responds, not even attempting to move.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat stands by the door looking aghast. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You lazy fuck, you better not-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>WIth a sudden flash of red a second Dave appears in front of Karkat, who then proceeds to slip money into the troll’s hand. He appears to be a little bit disheveled, but plays it cool. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s all in there, no need to count it. Love you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat chokes on the curse he was about to let loose. Whether the flush that colors the troll’s face is from embarrassment or sheer outrage isn’t clear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other three in the room nonchalantly wave in acknowledgement to future Dave.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Peace.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Flashing a peace sign, future Dave fucks off in another blink of red; leaving the group as quickly as he came. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat greets the delivery troll in a minor daze. The exchange of payment and goods goes without incident. Balancing their order in his arms, Karkat kicks the door closed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>During the brief exchange, Dave was busy being distracted by his phone. John had opted to start playing with Dirk’s hair. He started tugging on the spiky edges in order to get his boyfriend’s attention. Dirk leaned back into John’s awaiting hands easily, the light scratches felt good on his scalp. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just as Dirk was beginning to really enjoy John’s ministrations, the door slamming gets their attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh! Karkat, let me help you with that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Those divine hands pull away and Dirk finds himself just a tiny bit miffed at the loss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John floats over to help Karkat carry the food. After a few minor protests from the latter, the two of them meander into the kitchen together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a beat of silence, Dirk gets bored of being ignored and flashsteps onto the cushion that Karkat had previously vacated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stares at Dave.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can I help you, dude?” Dave asks, refusing to look up from his phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Depends. You wanna let me in on what you and John have planned recently?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Nani the fuck?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I’m going to have to endure another bout of John’s gambit, I want to be able to implement the proper countermeasures for said japery.“</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Those sure are some things you said there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Should you choose to cooperate, I’ll fuckin' give you Jane’s recipe for apple strudel.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> Dave looks up from his phone, eyes scanning Dirk’s expression.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You serious?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Have I ever been known to not be a man of my word?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wonder if that's still considered corporate espionage if it's from the old world?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know that you're joking, but this is Jane’s own recipe dingus khan, nothing CrockerCorp about it. She’s still getting her feelers out into the new world, Dave. We all are. No one is stopping you from your financial fandangling, remember.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn't that Dave possessed a particularly personal vendetta against the old corporation <em>himself</em>, per se, but everyone in their little entourage had beef with the old Batterbitch one way or another. The anxiety hanging over anything (anyone) associated with the corporation's name was a real, but unfortunate side effect. When Jane proposed starting up her own bakery chain, it made some of their friends a little antsy. However, Jane had divulged Dirk that using the name CrockerCorp would have been a little too traumatizing to use for Jane herself. A difficult thing to admit for someone so fiercely independent. He could relate. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even if she was a little frightened, Jane knew that is was something wanted to do. Who was Dirk to discourage her?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Besides, Dirk knows that Dave just likes to dunk on Jane because she won't accept any of his financial backings. Real competition for him. 'Bout damn time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dave sighs.<br/><br/></p>
<p>“Fine, but much as I would love to help you out and obtain that sweet’n’sexy bribe, I honestly don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bullshit.”<br/><br/></p>
<p>Just the other day, Dirk had overheard John talking in another room. He was taking one of his, as John so lightly put it, “mandatory”  breaks from his workshop.  He was supposed to take a set number of breaks within a certain amount of time. Especially when John was out for the whole day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>None of their friends or allies needed any assistance, at least not immediately, which allowed John to hang out at home that day. Normally, John would have barged in by then to check up on Dirk. He strolled out of his workshop in order to nab a drink from the kitchen. Maybe take a piss while he was at it. While Dirk decided to take a little detour to the bathroom before heading right back to work; his ears perked up as John’s voice floated from the bedroom.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door was slightly ajar, inviting Dirk to open it. What stopped him however,  was the low, conspiratorial tone in which John was using. A few snatches of wheezy giggles were heard here and there as well. Like he was talking to someone familiar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before Dirk could properly listen in, John’s conversation had abruptly ended.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The guys musta caught wind of him standing there. Ninja skills sadly pale in comparison to havinging breath sensing abilities. It was a minor irritation though; Dirk enjoyed a good game of wits and John knew this well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>First things first; Dirk needed to uncover the identity of whoever was on the phone with John and do a little pressing. The first and most obvious person to interrogate/bribe was Dave, John’s number one target for wrangling into his schemes. Jade was second only because she has the good sense to actually say ‘no’ to John sometimes. Pleading baby blues be damned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Approximately two days ago, I heard you and John conspiring over the phone.” Dirk accuses.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What? Dude, I haven’t called John all week, we’ve only texted. Things had been all kinds of balls to the wall busy over here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Why do I not believe you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, not all of us have our robo-slaves out and about doing shit for their “benevolent” masters. Business has been booming and Karkat’s been pulling his hair out over helping the Mayor pick out his new office wallpaper. Gotta respect the Mayor’s mad discerning tastes when it comes to his place of employment. I’m just gonna book the AI uprising into my schedule. How’s the next century do for you? I should just time travel us all forward to skip past that inevitable cliched fuckfest.” Dave smacks his forehead.“Oh shit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dirk quirks an eyebrow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You alright?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dave nods,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, I just forgot about my little past rendezvous with Karkles. Gotta go get the money and give-”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Dave lets out a curse before he falls on top of the coffee table and lands with an “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7NFwhd0zsHU"> omph </a>!”. The table doesn't break under Dave’s weight, but he certainly got the wind knocked out of him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dirk can’t hold back the laugh that comes up from his diaphragm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat pokes his head out from the kitchen. “What fuck happened, can’t the two of you be left alone for more than five minutes without one of you breaking shit for attention?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What’s up?” John says as he takes a peek into the living room. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He soaks in both Strider brothers, mostly Dave’s ass and feet jutting up into the air. Without another word he laughs and turns back into the kitchen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Karkat pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Dirk, could you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No problem” Dirk chuckles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He reaches over in order to untie Dave’s tangled shoelaces and helps his ecto-son to his feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dave grumbles out a ‘Thanks’ while he tries to smooth his shirt and adjust his pants. He is somewhat successful, but still looks a little bit raggled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Those retcon powers, man. Shit is deudly. Although, Dirk thinks, it’s probably Dave’s own fault for wearing his fucking shoes inside. His Beta self can’t be blamed for the other Strider not out growing that particular habit. Probably.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Schooling his expression back into blank stoicism, Dirk rests a hand on Dave’s shoulder</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Remember when you asked me about my secret for controlling a certain windy nerd’s pranksterisms?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a grunt, Dave folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dirk milks the pause between them for dramatic effect. In the background John and Karkat can still be heard chatting amicably from the kitchen, the white noise almost soothing. Something warm blooms pleasantly within Dirk’s chest. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He smirks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“That's my secret Dave; I don't.”</p>
<p>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>edited 5/24/20</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wake me up, Tuck me in part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warning for purely self indulgent garbage including the following; sleeby dirk, a passion for bacon, booty shaking john and dirk making mountains out of molehills which is then halted because cute boys.</p><p>Warning for brief mention of past panic attack.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “All around your island, there's a barricade </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Keeps out the danger, holds in the pain </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Sometimes you’re happy, sometimes you cry </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Half of me is ocean, half of me is sky” </em>
</p><p>The Lumineers - Walls</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>A delicious scent wafts lightly across Dirk’s nose, it twitches as if tickled. It wouldn't be inaccurate to imagine a smokey hand trying to tease him like they used to do in old cartoons. This rouses him from his previous half awake loafing around in bed. That wonderful, thick odor that gets deep under one’s skin and settles into their clothes. Raises a damn family in there. It can only mean one thing.</p><p> </p><p>Mother. Fucking. Bacon.</p><p> </p><p>A groan leaves Dirk at the annoying rumbling from his stomach. Stupid goddamn bodliy functions and their pavlovian responses. It was one of those incredibly rare, quiet mornings where you’ve slept well enough, but the bed beckons a person to indulge themselves in it further.  Uninterrupted, he would have been very content to just roll around in bed for another half an hour. Perhaps a full hour, as he did have the whole bed to himself. Queen sized or not the thing couldn’t protect you from a restless sleeping partner or cold feet.</p><p> </p><p>The bed is a wanton siren, the bacon Dirk’s Achilles heel. </p><p> </p><p>There was some kind of deep mythological meaning beneath that thought, surely, but Dirk finds the thought slipping from his mind as fast as it came.</p><p> </p><p>This olfactory occurrence was by no means mere happenstance, oh no. This was the throwing down of a gauntlet, a pristine glove slapped across the visage of an esteemed gentleman. Its meaning rings loud and clear; ‘wake up, asshole’.</p><p> </p><p>Dirk hugs his pillow tighter, hoping that the pressure on his tummy will be a good enough of a distraction to ignore the hunger pangs. Feeling around the bed for a second, his legs find and secure themselves around another pillow for good measure.</p><p> </p><p>About five minutes pass when loud clanging starts to rise up from the kitchen, followed by terrible singing. Horrible, awful singing. One might describe it as the sound that an alley cat might make whilst being forcibly shaved. Along with having its teeth pulled.</p><p> </p><p>This wasn’t a gentleman’s duel, this was a full out assault on the senses by a drunken pugilist beating the shit out of a slab of meat.</p><p> </p><p>“MMMmngng..” Dirk articulates into his pillow. His own body betrays him when he feels his stomach clench painfully. The smell is practically filling up his brain cavity like a hot air balloon.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck it.</p><p> </p><p>Not unlike ripping off a bandaid, he yanks himself from the fluffy warmth and sits up. Reaching over to the night table, Dirk slaps his hand clumsily on top of the wood until his hand finds his shades. Eyewear firmly secured onto his nose, he rolls onto his side in order to sit up. With a grunt, Dirk pulls his ass out of bed, but not without one last look of longing at his beloved. The give from the bed cherishes his body's fading divot like a parting kiss. </p><p> </p><p>Even half awake, DIrk is able to keep his bare toes from knocking into shit. What could he say, fancy footwork came in handy for a myriad of different circumstances; strifing, absconding, enacting pranking stratagems, dodging minefields of shit that you and your significant other both forget or procrastinate to put away. John, on the other hand, just floats over everything like a lazy piece of shit. Dirk technically could just fly like any of their other god tiered friends, but Dirk embraces gravity while John defies it.</p><p> </p><p>When they had just moved in together, leaving messes lying around became a bit of a passive aggressive ploy. It was an attempt to see who would acquiesce and clean up first. The game had lasted for a while only until it became evident that the organized chaos that Dirk grew up with affected John more negatively than himself. John became noticeably more agitated by mess piles left too high within different rooms at the same time; nor was it amusing to witness. The ability to float aside, it seemed to genuinely upset him. John, being the dense twerp that he is didn’t even notice his own change in attitude until Dirk pointed it out.</p><p> </p><p> Currently, the agreement was that the bedroom was allowed to get a little disorganized, but it had to be cleaned at least once (or<em> very </em> rarely, twice) a week. However, today was not one of those days. Other rooms held their own rules, such as Dirk’s workshop being his space to do with whatever the fuck he pleases.</p><p> </p><p>At the dresser, he gropes around in the underwear drawer for a fresh pair. He notices a plush smuppet rump sticking out of another drawer, all alone. The smuppet’s brother’s had previously been exiled from their home in the drawer during the great smuppet purge(from the bedroom). </p><p> </p><p>There was no need for such barbarousness when John could just use the damn closet. A cruel god, indeed.</p><p> </p><p> ‘Families don’t have to be torn apart, not anymore.’ He had uttered, darkly. ‘Shit is damn tragic.’</p><p> </p><p>John chose to answer the malaise mood that Dirk was setting up with a retcon style wet willy. Which was exactly what it sounded like; John hadn’t even fucking <em> moved. </em>When the fuck did he have time to lick his finger during their exchange?</p><p> </p><p>Claims regarding any following screams are purely false testimonies. All of Dirk’s smuppets can attest to this.</p><p> </p><p>The lone smuppet’s bulbous ass juts out towards the ceiling, beckoning Dirk to sink his hand into its foamy crevices. Dirk decides to assent to the silent request and gives the little guy sympathetic squeeze. It would be okay little buddy, they’d stick it out together. Dirk has his designs after all and those shitty movie posters were well overdue for a redecorating.</p><p> </p><p>Dirk inattentively gathers more articles of clothing from the floor; pajama pants and a sweatshirt. The sweatshirt smells nice to him, probably John’s then.</p><p> </p><p>After a quick trip across the hall to the bathroom (no cellophane wrap today, thank fuck), Dirk makes his way downstairs to the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>~~~</p><p> </p><p>The noise (and smell) reaches it’s peak as Dirk enters, the raucous bastard himself singing away without care. His back to Dirk, John gives no sign that he’s noticed him yet. John swings his hips with the rhythm of the song he’s listening to through his phone sitting in his back pocket. He was totally into the music, bopping his head and tapping his foot; not dropping any bacon that he moves from the frying pan to the paper towel on the counter.</p><p> </p><p>Prying his eyes away from a certain gyrating posterior, Dirk flash-steps across the tile floor to grab one of the drying pieces of bacon. He shoves the piece into his mouth while he sets the table for two. Once that’s done, Dirk seats himself at the table and takes a bite out of the bacon strip. </p><p> </p><p>Oh <em> hell </em> yes. The big man has the bacon.</p><p> </p><p>While Dirk busied himself with his prize, John was still lost in the throes of cow bells and blue oysters. Bacon finished, John started to make the eggs. One sunny side up, one scrambled. He continues bellowing out lyrics with some humming tossed into the mix while he works;</p><p> </p><p>“Come on babyyyyyy!” </p><p> </p><p>“Hmm HmmMM then they started to fly!”</p><p> </p><p>“MMM MMM she had become like they are!”</p><p> </p><p>“Come on babyyyyy! Don’t fear the re--”</p><p> </p><p>Another bacon piece disappears in a blink. John rolls his eyes,  ‘so damn impatient’ he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>Taking his earphones out, John turns around, masterfully transmuting his smirk into a look of surprise.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Good morning Dirk!” He chirps.</p><p> </p><p>Dirk gives him a curt nod in greeting, the stolen bacon strip is nowhere to be seen. Guilty.</p><p> </p><p>“G’mornin’.”</p><p> </p><p>“To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your bright, sunny face this early?” John asks while sliding a portion of bacon and eggs onto Dirk’s plate. Dirk thanks him, his brain still running on automatic.</p><p> </p><p>It takes a second for Dirk to process John’s question, drowsiness tugging at his inflection like warm honey.</p><p> </p><p>“So, there I was, jus’ layin' in bed when all of a sudden..”</p><p> </p><p>“All of the sudden..” </p><p> </p><p>“All of a sudden I got my nips blasted off of my chest by the cloying perfume of cooking gristle’n fat. A rudeass awaking if I’ve ever had one. They just vacated the place. Fuckin’ shot off into the great blue of the mesosphere n’fist bumping with deadly Ultra Violet rays. They’re probably circumnavigating the planet’s firmament as we speak, John. A shriveled pair of pepperoni’s observing the world like a sleepless deity over its creation.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know if I can date a guy with no tits.” John says, wrinkling his nose. </p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be such a shallow dickhead. Who knows what other parts of me will evacuate my person the next time you cook? We’re lucky that this is only a new occurrence. Could be terminal. Shit was mad discerning to say the least. You’ll be dating a talking stump before we know it.”</p><p> </p><p>What a completely fucking ass backwards way to compliment someone, Jesus Christ. John doesn’t know whether to laugh or groan. Instead, he nods patiently, half listening.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh huh, coffee?”</p><p> </p><p>“I got it.”</p><p> </p><p>Dirk gets up to pour himself a cup from one of the two coffee machines. He mixes a little decaf and regular into his mug. It has “butt guy” printed on it in exquisite comic sans. All of their mugs are identical except for one with a hole at the bottom. That one is reserved for sweet, precious, chronically gullible Dave.</p><p> </p><p>“Want some?”</p><p> </p><p>“No thanks, I already finished mine. Took my pills too. “John adds.</p><p> </p><p>John fails to mention anything about how he got up extra early on account of poor sleep. </p><p> </p><p>“Fuck my ass” Dirk hisses. “I left my phone in the shop. Again.” </p><p> </p><p>“Mmhmm.”</p><p> </p><p>Dirk does mental fucking gymnastics in order to recount his steps from last night before going to bed the night prior. He had been so caught up in his projects that he forgot to take his phone (his alarm) to bed with him. Having his shades meant that he could view his texts and other media whenever, but it simply lacked any audio or vibration features. Only so much you could shove into two panes of glass.</p><p> </p><p>This wasn't the first time that this has happened, either. Goddamnit, he’s supposed to be <em> accountable </em> for this shit. It shouldn’t be John or else’s anyone’s job to make sure that he takes his meds, he has more than enough tools to make sure that his routine is maintained.</p><p> </p><p>John reads the tenseness in Dirk’s back and shoulders; he can see the storm forming on the horizon.</p><p> </p><p>“Man, If only there was a thing that existed that could measure time and wake you up when you’re supposed to! Tough luck, bro. Oh wait, I think we had something like that back on my version of earth!” He quips.</p><p> </p><p>Dirk, not missing a beat say’s,</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t believe I’m getting sassed by a nematode footed cavedweller.”  </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, It’s amazing how us cavemen ever survived before having machines that did shitty ninja rap battles or could break dance. Ever hear of a device that <em> only </em> tells time? I’ll have you know that we called that kind of time wizardry “magic” in my day. Roxy would have loved it.” John retorts “It’s not gonna ruin your 'techno geek cred' or whatever phony reputation that you think you have if you use one! No one will doubt the legitimacy of your weird nerd boners.” </p><p> </p><p>Despite the sarcastic bite of his words, John knows from experience that Dirk will berate himself harder than any reprimand he can think of. Not that the situation calls for it per se, but for Dirk, disappointing a loved one is worse than their anger. Just the biggest sap, that one. Sometimes it's better to redirect Dirk’s attention with exaggerations bordering on the ridiculous. Too much subtlety and the dork might take it seriously for ‘ironic’ purposes.</p><p> </p><p>Either way, it’s enough of a distraction that Dirk looks over his shoulder and deadpans;</p><p> </p><p>“We both know that magic is fake as shit.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, duh. Doesn’t make it any less awesome, though. Even ancient, hokey time majicks can be cool. Don’t tell Dave I said that, though or I’ll tell him how many times you died playing Kirby.“ John threatens. He lifted up a finger before Dirk could voice his totally justified protest. “I’m sure Jane still has some of her old stuff that she can lend. I, uh, would sorta know.” He finishes lamely.</p><p> </p><p>Dirk remains half turned away from the counter, but not quite looking at John himself. Rather, he looks off into the distance with a contemplative expression.</p><p> </p><p>It was sound enough logic, unlike John, Jane had yet to move out of the house that she shares with her father. There were bound to be loads of baubles and old shit that her sentimental dad kept over the years. However, that negative little voice in the back of Dirk’s head stubbornly refuses to give in to the least complicated route. He can’t quite silence those thoughts that urge to push himself above and beyond his limitations. He shouldn’t have to bother Jane with his failure to pick up the slack regarding his routine maintenance. His automatic cycle of self aggrandizing and flagellation is his cross to bear and no one else’s. It’s practically coded within his DNA. How is he going to learn to cope with his own fucked up persona when he can’t even remember his own stupid, goddamn phone?</p><p> </p><p>“Dirk?”</p><p> </p><p>Growing up alone in the middle of the god fucking ocean and always being awake on Derse meant that he literally was incapable of sleep. Negligence was not something that Dirk could afford back then, no matter the cost. He was his friends constant eyes and ears, unwavering, unceasing. He never had a ‘schedule’ his entire life until before Sburb ended. His sacred ablutions were the only thing that could be considered part of any sort of daily ritual. Navigating the ability to sleep had been its own long and arduous trial on Earth C. The very <em>concept</em> of 'shutting down' entirely had scared the fucking shit out of him at first; shit can still freak him out sometimes. Without getting all melodramatic or anything, sleep went against his very role in the game, his Aspect. <em>Dreams?</em>  What the fuck were those?</p><p> </p><p>He had a full blown panic attack from the first 'real' dream that he ever had thinking that Obama had come to assassinate him with a crab. Fun times.</p><p> </p><p>It's insane to think about where he started to where he is now, sleeping for a few hours in a row during the night. Who would have thought it was possible? Defiantly not Dirk. </p><p> </p><p>Everything still continues to be uncharted territory; fascinating, terrifying, new territory.</p><p> </p><p>However, forgetting his phone is still his fault, so why should anyone else have to fucking--</p><p> </p><p>“Helllooooo? Dude, I'm talking to you!”</p><p> </p><p>A small, self contained bluster of air ruffles Dirk's clothes. </p><p> </p><p>Oh right, he’s been standing there like a zombie spacing the fuck out .</p><p> </p><p>When Dirk glances at John, instead of an annoyed pout on his face, an encouraging smile greets him. Dirk feels the previously growing knot in the pit of his gut loosens somewhat. The mental fog clears up just enough in Dirk’s mind for a new thought to slip through. It’s quiet compared to his constant mental din, but he tries his best to focus on it. </p><p> </p><p>‘Calm down, breathe’ the thought whispers.</p><p> </p><p>Dirk remembers how to do so and takes a breath. </p><p> </p><p>It’s just a stupid clock.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll make one for myself, today.” He offers.</p><p> </p><p>John gives a little noncommittal shrug.</p><p> </p><p>“Sure, sounds like a plan.” John says, his tone light and easy.</p><p><br/><br/>Dirk feels something like a smile on the inside.<br/><br/><br/>"Cool."<br/><br/></p><p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not really happy with the latter part of this chapter but, siiiiigh. If i go for perfect then I'd never post anything ever. Idea's of how to write things differently always come after you press the post button.</p><p> I had to cut this fluffy scene into two chapters so part two will come out soon....ish</p><p>Dirk is doing his best. He literally never slept before arriving on earth c. WOO BOY was that a slow nightmare to deal with ;) </p><p>These boys have (continue to) overcome a lot ;-;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Wake me up, Tuck me in part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Weird flashbacks that include: Dirk wishing that his loved ones didn't need someone like him to save their friend from an extreme of a Dissociative episode. Tw for disassociation and brief descriptions/feelings of nihilism.</p>
<p>Presently: Lighthearted banter segues into Mood Whiplash via migraines and other weird things that are probably Just John Things.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>IM SO SORRY TO REPOST CHAPTER 3 BUT IT HAD TO BE DONE. I really didn't like how the last chapter came out at all. It lacked the mood and elements that I am interested in exploring. The beginning is pretty much the same but the middle to latter half has been totally changed. Sorry for the inconvenience!</p>
<p>If you're still with me after this thank you so, so very much it means the world to me!!!!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>A few years in the past, but not many...</b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>This god, this </span>
  </em>
  <span>entity</span>
  <em>
    <span> felt nothing towards Dirk one way or another.  Not his name, face, past present nor possibly ersatz future. It was akin to the horrible apathy of Sburb that they had all become accustomed to when the damn universe wasn’t using sentient beings to self propagate. He wondered if this is what mortals felt like when they come to the realization that the universe is just fuck deep in disinterest. A yawning chasm that observes their existence the way humans observed a single cell whilst drunk as balls on ‘who gives a fuck’ juice. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>However, the most messed up thing about it was that, for Dirk, it made him feel a sick sense of…..</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Relief. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The pull hadn’t been this strong since one splinter had almost ripped Aranea’s soul from her body, another splinter’s battle against Caliborn and certainly not since his fight with the Jacks. Then again, the word ‘since’ implied that these events occurred in congruence to his present incarnation’s timeline. Which they did not and at the same time did. Circumstantial Simultaneity and all that. The abhorrent desire to pull on the strings of another person’s Soul was never terribly far from Dirk. No matter the iteration, the urge was always lying in wait, like a viper coiled taut beneath a rock. It was a constant reminder of who and what he was. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bro! Do it right meow!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That little tingling under his finger tips that prodded him to reach forward into those vacant pits in front of him and…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>ZAP!</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John is seated with his own breakfast when Dirk rejoins him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They eat in a casual silence, somewhere outside weird bird-like creatures chitter. John sometimes steals glances up at Dirk enjoying his meal. It has become somewhat of a habit at this point. Even if John was reaching for the proverbial low hanging fruit by cooking measly bacon and eggs, he won't look a gift horse (ugh) in the mouth. Not when it comes to seeing someone enjoy his food. Especially if that someone just happened to be Dirk Strider. The self proclaimed gijinka of all horses. Whatever the fuck did that meant.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span> “God looked at those magnificent beasts and was like, damn, I gotta see what those things look like in my image. Low and behold; yours truly came into being. You’re welcome.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Christ, could he be any more of an arrogant douche? John is the one who made him for fuck’s sake! Sort of. Ecto-shenanigan’s aside, Dirk’s best attribute really is sitting quietly and enjoying John’s food. Bacon bits smeared all over his mouth included.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk is both a frustratingly laid-back and fussy eater at the same time. He’ll eat almost anything like the fucking garbage disposal that he is. However, when it actually comes to trying new foods, it’s like trying to get one of the grubs to move onto solid foods. Kanaya had warned him to wear the damn hazmat apron which was, according to her ‘Suitable For Sanitary Safety, But Also Flatters One’s’ Posterior’. Did John listen? Of course not. Stupid,  stupid. Dumb. At least Karkat wasn’t visiting the brooding caverns that day to see it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t get the stench off of his skin for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>week</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk wouldn't let him near his dumb precious shower, so off to Jade’s it was. Bless his sister. What she didn’t know while she was off with Davepeta on one of their ‘archaeological’ trips wouldn't hurt her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>John made sure to leave Dirk a few ‘surprises’ in the bathroom once John was allowed back in. Hey, if Dirk liked bathing so much then John was just helping the guy out! What are bro’s for after all? </span>
</p>
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</p>
<p>
  <span>Slime was a much more effective method for pranking as John had learned the hard way. Any sort of confections repurposed as pranking artillery caused the situation to painfully backfire more than once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk had retaliated back at John full force, rumbling “We clean up our messes in this house, don't we, John?” He then proceeded to lick the cream off each of his fingers very slowly, then uh-- oh haha, wow, where were those thoughts going?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>John is pulled out of his reverie when Dirk nudges his foot under the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. Dirk is looking at him. His shades are slightly dipping down, allowing a sliver of his eyes to meet John’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s on your mind? Your expression was eerily reminiscent of a shoujo protagonist dreaming about munchin’ on her senpai’s spicy takoyaki. Careful there, Yuki-chan, those octoballs are rascally motherfuckers. No telling what will happen once you get too close. They might pierce your nubile heart by taking you out on a romantic as hell date and then once you're nice and lax, feel up your deepest, darkest secrets. Just lay all of that slice of life angst onto him, sweetheart, he’s ready to come down hard on those difficult existential questions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever expression that had previously been on John’s face dissipated the second Dirk used the phrase,‘octoballs.’John can do nothing but let his boyfriend ride out this trainwreck to its disasterous and undoubtedly dumb conclusion. He waits, chin in hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For the love of god, forget about senpai and notice his fried hentai spheres that have been pining after you since they dropped. The show needed a love triangle and this is the best that the writers could do, because the rest of the budget went into lovingly rendered shots of your panties.”</span>
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  <span>Mouth slightly agape, John sets his fork down, next to his phone.</span>
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</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thats funny, I’m pretty sure that I didn’t ask you to describe one of your biggest wet dreams to me before noon, dude. Like, I was just minding my own business, trying to eat some breakfast here. I guess you can’t really help having a talent for ruining people's appetites.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk’s eye’s get that great and terrible glint in them that means he is just getting started. He tips his head back and pushes up his shades with a finger.</span>
</p>
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</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds to me like you’re a tad jealous to find yourself absent from my quintessential spank bank material. Competition’s hot and the entrants are hotter than a fuckin’ supernova” Dirk says around a mouthful of food. “How’s it feel to play second banana to Kermit the Frog and Horace Horsecollar? Always the bridesmaid, as they say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t talk with your mouth full, you goon.” John chides, kicking Dirk under the table. “Besides, we both know who Dave will choose to be his best man for the wedding.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are correct, the title is ‘Best Man’ not ‘Best Bro’. If anything, I have that title already tucked nicely into my pocket. The thing is just curled up in there all nice n’cozy, could take a nap in there indefinitely.” Catching himself falling for John’s ploy, Dirk frowns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing is final until the date is set, Strider.” John retorts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop trying to distract me. Your denial levels are off the charts this morning. Some guy in one of Kanaya’s designer suits is hurling himself out of a highrise window because the chart is so wack.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It worked didn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not the point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pfftt, what ever.” John says with a derisive sniff.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s get back to the topic at hand, hm? Let me just ask you one thing; could it be that you are, in fact, craving my Mcnuggies, Egbert-kun?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, he will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> laugh at that goddamn meme Biting down hard on the smile that wants to form, John quickly changes tactics, lamenting;</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just really concerned that your fantasies might one day turn you into a serial puppet fucker, Dirk. What will poor Miss Piggy do then? How can I possibly live with a homewrecker in good conscience?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, the 1950’s just called, George Orwell sent you a cease and desist. Aren’t you aware that by merely ruminating on thought policing, his corpse loses out on real life money dollars from copyright infringement?” Dirk askes, talking slowly as if to a total moron. Dick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hurr hurr, I’m Dirk and I think I’m so cool talking about authors whose stuff I’ve probably never even read because I like to pretend that I’m this big ‘pseudo’ nerd. Except, surprise! I’m not! Uh, I mean. As in </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> really are as lame as you try not to be!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tell me I’m wrong.” John dares.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Notable British authors aside, the twisted, dark reality that they live in is this; Dirk Strider, Asian cartoon aesthetic stealing bastardo, had literally never watched a single anime once in his goddamn life. Not before John watched them with him, anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>While living with Jake, Dirk had watched mainly live-action films or movies with puppets in them and on rare occasions, Western cartoons. Before arriving on Earth C, Dave was more well versed in watching anime than Dirk himself. Rose had her own collection of specific... viewing material for years. Hell, even Jane had watched some with Calliope. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk’s curriculum in the liberal (anime) arts had included guzzling down unholy amounts of internet memes, fanfiction and other meta bullshit. Nothing from the actual source material themselves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk had confessed this to John when they first started hanging out. When John had invited Dirk over to his old house, he put on Beyblade for them to watch. During some overly dramatic scene, Dirk had decided to blurt out his secret. The reveal came out on a whim, a feeling of ‘why the hell not?’. An odd sense of lightness came with the admittance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pride that Dirk feels for this particular ruse is clearly astronomical for some exceptionally dumb rationalization that John has yet to give a shit about deciphering. It's only one example of a steadily increasing number of things that John has been piling up in his mind. These mannerisms are catalogued under the label ‘Just Dirk Things’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was also one, single, diabolical reason that Dirk divulged this to John; “No one will ever believe you.” Dirk had said, the light from the television reflecting onto his shades, his mouth quirked up ever so slightly </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The asshole was right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just because fucking Kermit would gratify me sexually, does not negate my respect for that glamorous suid. That’s my damn idol you’re talkin’ about. Besides, Miss Piggy and Kermit have had an off- again on- again relationship for years. I wouldn’t be encouraging anything they haven’t already done before. Nonetheless, if inviting you and Miss Piggy along for the ride would make you feel more comfortable with the prospect, then I would gladly comply.” Dirk offers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I still don’t want to think about how the horse is involved.” John says, wrinkling his nose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You just lack imagination, bro. The only thing holding you back is your unwillingness to delve deeper into the infinite realm of erotic possibilities. I can be your guide, John, I can show you the-” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>A chair screeches across the floor as John shoots up from across the table. He stands slightly hunched over, body tense with one hand is clenched over his forehead.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“John?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a blink he is at John’s side, their idle chatter all but forgotten as Dirk’s problem solving mode inevitably kicks into gear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here, sit down.” Dirk tries as if talking to a wounded animal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” John grits out. His protest loses its bite as he next lets out a sound that is suspiciously like a whimper. Oh, for fucks sake. Much as Dirk can appreciate a good dick measuring contest, now is not the time for John to show off the veritable helft of his Mangrit. Yes, John. You are the platonic ideal of masculinity given flesh. It is a tiring habit of John’s in this particular scenario and Dirk can’t help but roll his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sit down</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>jackass.</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dirk deadpans with a shove to John’s shoulder, having no patience for this bullshit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> sit down. You are such a--”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he can get another word out, John grips his head with another hiss of pain. The throbbing in his temples forcefully shoves away the ability to further grouse. Instead, John plops down onto the offered chair with a huff. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Working on autopilot, Dirk heads over to open up one of the cabinets. Ignoring his and John’s organizers, Dirk grabs a lone bottle sitting on the shelf.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>After fixing a glass of water Dirk offers it to John along with a small white pill in his palm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>John, still gripping his head in his hands, doesn’t take it. Stubborn. Dirk 'tsks' inside his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can do this all day, Egbert.” Dirk says with a shake of his head. “Consider my plans cancelled for the rest of the day because you and I are en- fuckin’ trenched in this bitch. Upgrading the NannyD-bots? That shit has been thoroughly eradicated from the table. Not the actual, physical table, mind you, because that would be a sorry goddamn waste.” Dirk prattles, barely pausing for breath. “I want to involve the cavalry even less than you do. However, should you continue to act like a little bitch, don’t bother entertaining the notion that I won’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rose getting involved always facilitated results, yes. The mental scarring that came with the woman’s methods of coercion, however, were only utilized as a last resort. </span>
  <span>The little stab of envy Dirk has for John’s trust in his ecto-daughter is wholly unwarranted as the two have a relationship that spanned before and after the trials of Sburb. Likewise, his own little band of geeks hold an irrevocable place within Dirk's esteem. Still the feeling persists. Nevertheless, he will summon up Lalonde or even, god forbid, Harely, should John prove to be difficult this time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Abruptly, John snatches the aforementioned drug from Dirk’s palm. With a wince he carelessly swallows it down with a few chugs of water. A rough ‘thanks.’ follows after.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well shit. That certainly ended much more quickly than Dirk had anticipated. He feels his shoulders droop a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither man says anything for beat before Dirk opens his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere outside the bird-like creatures have stopped crying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, uh. Do you want to lay down?” Dirk asks, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. On the inside however, he feels rather awkward just standing there. It was always a balancing act when it came to John. He sometimes needed to be slammed over the head with a goddamn metaphorical hammer in order to remember how to take care of himself, on the other hand he needed enough space in order to make the choice independently. Sometimes it felt like a literal blow with a hammer was required, though. It would be sufficiently-- no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>adequately</span>
  </em>
  <span> ironic for John to be struck with his own weapon of choice. Some real surface level bullshit right there that the guy deserves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, he’s rambling again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I gotta go help Jane today. I promised.” John finally discloses at a volume slightly lower than his normal indoor voice. Too quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk’s chest does that funny squeezing thing at the stressed determination in John's voice. It was always odd to see this dickhead, in his own way, spout out sentiments reminiscent of an after school PSA. Then Dirk remembers that this is John; friendleader of his respective Sburb posse and avid consumer of early-mid 90’s schlock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span> Not for the first time does he wonder what it would have been like to grow up with John.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>When Dirk opened his eyes (when did they close?), he heard a scream. For the first time in his life, it was immensely difficult to hold onto his own identity as emotions/thoughts that weren’t his </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorrowWRATH </span>
  <b>g u i l t</b>
  <em>
    <span> seized him by the core </span>
  </em>
  <span>letgoletgoletGO </span>
  <em>
    <span>the second he dipped his fingers into the proverbial well. The weight of it slammed into him like an eight wheeler full of TNT using rocket fuel. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>After getting his bearings Dirk realized that instead of being knocked backwards, the entity was slowly but surely sucking his consciousness into itself. Had he done this alone and not with the power boost from his allies, Dirk was certain that he would have been sucked into the whorl before him. This was not a guess, he felt it as it happened(</span>
  </em>
  <span>happenedhappenwillhappen</span>
  <em>
    <span>) to another splinter out there somewhere in Paradox Space. ‘Adios, bro. Better you than me.’ Dirk thought.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be so easy, too easy to melt away into what the Breeze was offering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>I want to come home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>Co   m e </b>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>   H om     e Wi   nd Ch        i  ld, </b>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>O We  ary      O    ne,  C   ome      H   o</b>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <b>m-</b>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dirk shook off the whispering that surged within his head and heart, these words were not meant for him. Yet he still felt an unfathomable aching in his chest. A vacuum the size of two universes. A loneliness that was wholly familiar yet so very foreign. Other. What..what was this?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The literal and metaphorical tug of war between the two Wills forced Dirk to hold his position with all of his might.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>How the fuck was he supposed to wrangle this </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing</span>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The shit he did for his family and friends, man.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the living room, John has finally settled the fuck down on the couch. Back supported by a pillow, his head rests over one arm of the couch, eyes covered by a cool, wet rag. The end table has a glass of water placed on top of a stained calendar as its coaster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This suuuuuuucks” John’s groan trails off into a weak chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop talking, holy fuck.“ Dirk reprimands a little more harshly than intended, but he knows that right now talking is a chore for the idiot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither John nor himself could ever be remotely described as ‘good’ patients. It just went against everything that both men held in esteem about themselves. Although they both continue seeking aid for their respective issues, physical maladies are something that Dirk and John greatly despise. Any hurt could be overcome, but something that physically inhibits the ability to do what they want is inconvenient and frustrating. Leaning on others is less than desirable as well. Most importantly, of course is that it’s uncomfortable as hell.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The frequency of John’s migraines have only led to more irritation on John’s part, thus eroding Dirk’s patience further in the process.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>An aspect in which they are unfortunately too similar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Chill here for a bit, I’ll go clean up and let Jane know you’ll reschedule with her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>John nods lightly as to not displace the rag on his head with a ‘Mmhm’.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk heads back into the kitchen and looks over their unfinished meals on the table. Sunlight pours in from the window, shining over the smooth black surface of John’s phone screen and glints off of the utensils. He’d better give the phone back to John just in case he needs something once Dirk is holed up in his workshop. He pockets the thing in his sweatshirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next, Dirk makes quick work the last bit of his now cooled eggs and coffee, wrapping John’s own unfinished eggs. Hey, maybe he can toss in some other stuff to make wrap a wrap. He shoves it into the fridge next to a few other leftovers in tupperwares. The dirty dishes are then at the very least rinsed off in the sink and clean ones put away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sustenance acquired, Dirk opens up the same cabinet from earlier to nab his pills.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He takes them with a sneer. Ugh, Fuck vitamins, man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span> Lastly, Dirk taps his shades and sends a quick message informing Jane of the situation. She is obviously disappointed that John can’t make it, but hopes that he gets the rest that he needs in order to feel better. She also asks if either of them need anything. Dirk assures her that he and John are alright at the moment and that they’ll catch up later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just as he reads Jane’s request to give John her and Mr. Crocker’s well wishes, Dirk’s ears prick at a noise in the background. He realizes that it’s been going on for the past few minutes. It sounds like humming. No, not quite humming, more like mumbling?</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turns his head towards the sound which floats up from the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk suddenly feels his hair prickling on the back of his neck. Electricity dances across his skin, while his muscles tense up ever so slightly. The sensation reminds him of the incident about two weeks ago when he overheard John’s phone conversation. There is something </span>
  <span>different, however and Dirk can’t put his finger on it. For some reason that he can’t immediately articulate, Dirk feels the need to hold his breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm..yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A pause.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ohh..?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Sucking down and a large breath of air and holding it deep in his lungs, Dirk ends his conversation with Jane and silently sidles closer to the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He peeks his head into the room and sees..</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing, no one. The living room holds the same number of inhabitants that he left little more than a half an hour ago.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>From this angle, he can see John laying on the couch, rag still in place over his forehead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>For about two minutes, John periodically mumbles to himself as Dirk looks on. Although, at some points it almost sounds like he is responding to someone. Thank fuck for all of his pre-game sea spelunking or else he’d have taken another breath. Perhaps John is talking in his sleep? It wouldn’t be the first time nor is it the weirdest sleeping habit that John possesses. Regardless, the medicine wouldn’t have taken full effect by now. It should have only begun to quell John’s migraine, there is no way he’d pass out that quickly while in so much pain. Normally, it takes a good hour before John can even hold a conversation, sometimes longer.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Then John does something even more peculiar; he giggles. That same, conspiratorial giggle Dirk thought he heard from the bedroom back then.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Something strangely like anxiety clenches in the pit of Dirk’s stomach. Why? He hadn’t assessed any visible threats. What could possibly be dangerous in their living room? This shit should be funny as hell to him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If the game had taught Dirk anything at all, it was to trust in his instincts. Whether the paranoia was justified or not, erring on the side of caution was better than being caught off guard or, you know, dead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out the breath he had been holding in and slowly steps toward the couch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Standing in front of John’s prone form, Dirk can see John’s chest moving up and down slowly and deeply, as if he were meditating. He reaches down to lightly stroke John’s cheek, hoping to stir him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey. How’re you feelin’?” He whispers. “Want me to replace the rag?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No response.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Well, it wouldn't hurt to replace the cloth as it has gone warm long ago if Dirk’s touch is anything to go by. He definitely needs to get a real ice pack because this thing is total dogshit, John’s protests be damned.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>When Dirk lifts up the rag from John’s face he stops.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John’s eyes are wide open, unblinking. They hold no light in them, appearing dull and glazed over. Dirk knows right away that John doesn't see the ceiling above him, his irises are not moving rapidly in dreaming, either. Dirk had taken note of the dark rings around John’s eyes earlier. Even so, their prominence is indeed more evident now without John constantly emoting. What time did he say that he woke up today?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it is the particular shade of blue or the fact that John’s glassy eyes are reminiscent  of a doll’s, but the sight stirs up a name in the back of Dirk’s mind; one that he hasn’t spoken in a damn long while. It’s too much to think about combined with the unsettling image of his boyfriend staring off into space like a fucking zombie.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He still hasn’t acknowledged Dirk’s presence. The lack of a reaction is far too mechanical for a human to imitate in order to pull off a crude prank, even for a Crockerbert.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A tentative hand wave over John’s face has no visible effect.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“John? Hey, John.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk tries shaking the other’s shoulder lightly. When that proves useless he tries patting John on the cheek. Each ‘pap’ becomes progressively harder with the steadily growing anxiety blossoming into panic within Dirk’s gut. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After what feels like far too long, John blinks once.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Twice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not unlike a computer screen booting up, life flickers back into John’s eyes. Dirk hears a sigh of relief. John’s gaze falls onto him wearing a fragile, lost expression that pricks Dirk’s chest  until it melts away into a doopy grin. John closes his eyes again and before Dirk can be seized by the claws of anxiety once more, John merely tries to roll further into the couch. He sluggishly swatts at Dirk’s hand, missing his mark by a mile. “Nhgh. Stoppit.” John slurs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This fucking guy right here is definitely trying to kill Dirk.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Dirk says, keeping the strain out of his voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whuh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah man, you were staring at the ceiling like turkey trying its hardest to drown itself in the rain. It was like the center of the universe was that shitty crack in the ceiling we’ve yet to fix and it held the answer to all of life’s mysteries.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shhush.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After he stops flailing his arm, John proceeds to further curl in on himself, snuggling deeper into the couch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you fucking kidding me? Now you’re falling asleep for real?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>John’s only response is a light snore.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Guess you’re feeling better, then.” Dirk mumbles to himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Remembering the weight in his sweatshirt Dirk plucks out John’s phone and stares at it. </span>
  <span>Eyebrows scrunching up, he wonders briefly where it had been the last time he had overheard John holding a ‘private’ conversation.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No. Not enough sufficient evidence to correlate the two at this point in time. Maybe the migraines were starting to make John hallucinate? More importantly he’ll just outright ask him what he experienced later today. Perhaps it will end up having to go under his mental list of “Jus Jhon Thngs”.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Right now, however, he really should get to work.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dirk puts the phone down on the end table where John can reach it and throws a lavender knit blanket over him. He then turns around to head into his workshop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, Dirk ends up in the recliner sitting crisscross applesauce with a fold out tv dinner stand in front of him. Several electronic bits and pieces are scattered across it while he assembles an alarm clock. Periodic glances at John’s snoozing form may or may not have occurred.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He knew how to be a Prince of Heart, not whatever the fuck they were doing right now. Fraymotifs were tricky like that; different power, different mechanics. His experience with them and Dave during their battle with the Jacks taught him that much. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Rip/Steal Johnny boy’s soul right back into his body, Dirk!’ Yeah, just grab the wind, Dirk. Easy fuckin’ peasey. ‘Slam dunk the idiot past the N line into the goal.’ Why was it that those who shared his ecto- biological genes were the most nonsensical?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Clearing his mind of the whispers that tried to invade his thoughts, Dirk focused on reaching out to his splinters. He pulled from their experiences in order to hastily stitch together something of a chaotic bricolage within his mind’s eye. He couldn’t pull humpty dumpty back together again without some kind of conceptual model of the guy’s Soul to reel back in. It was too amorphous to grasp, because it was the god-fucking- damn WIND. He could blast the dude’s body as a proxy until his heart was content, but Dirk had no idea about </span>
  </em>
  <span>what</span>
  <em>
    <span> or </span>
  </em>
  <span>who </span>
  <em>
    <span>he was hooking onto. He had to be careful. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>A soul wasn’t a broken vase that you could just do guess work in order to make it fit together. Dirk, at the very least, knew that intrinsically. As direct as his soul blasting powers were, it still required a very dexterous touch. How could one give form to the formless? He guessed that he would find out or else.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He braced himself for whatever mental onslaught this thing still had to offer.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>So...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Who exactly was this enigma named ‘John Egbert’?</span>
  </em>
</p>
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